PSHEW!

Two enlightening conversations with a Kindergartner at my school:

Him: Um, excuse me, but are ghosts real?
Me: What do you think?
H: I think they are just real in your head. I don't believe in ghosts.
M: Ok.
H: But I believe in god. And I believe in skeletons cuz they're inside your body.
M: Ok. That's good.
(He nods with satisfaction and walks away.)

Me: What are you drawing?
Him: It's me playing. It's what I like to play when I'm alone.
M: What is that coming out of your neck?
H: A napkin.
(short pause . . . wait for more)
H: I put a napkin in the back of my shirt as my . . . my - what's it called?
M: Cape?
H: Yeah, my cape. And here's my power belt. I open my belt and then PSHEW! All this stuff comes out that I can fight people with.
M: So it's when you play superheros?
H: No.
M: Ok.

True Challenges; a lesson from the mountain

I went on a very strenuous and rewarding 9 mile hike today. It was an intense uphill climb, followed by an obstacle course-like rock scramble across the top of the ridge, and finally a long, winding down slope.

I went with Boy, who is considerably more physically fit than I. Now, I can bend myself into a yogic pretzel with much more ease than he, but I have to admit that he is just plain stronger and faster. Knowing this before going in, my competitive gene reared its ugly head, and I was determined to keep up with him all the way up the hill. I huffed and I puffed and I prayed to the gods of the quadriceps, and I dragged myself up that damn mountain. Of course he would have stopped any time I asked, but I wouldn't admit that I needed a break until he did.

When we got to the top, there was at least a half mile of pure rock scramble. We had to hop from boulder to boulder over deep crevices, shimmy between tight passages, and even lie on our stomachs in some places just to pull ourselves up some of those large rock faces. By that point, I was really getting into it. I was no longer being driven by competition, but by pure, endorphin-boosting, adrenaline-racing, blood-flowing energy. I loved each new rock and the challenges that it presented. I placed my foot and pushed with all my might to hurl myself over difficult peaks. I took running jumps over gorges, and all this at over 4000 feet! I kept in front of Boy the whole time, so I could set the pace, giving in to my characteristic need for control. Well, also so he could watch me maneuver between the rocks and say impressed things, which I would casually brush off as though I didn't care. "What - that little boulder?" ;)

When we finally, finally reached the highest peak, I took a huge dose of mountain air in through my lungs as I lifted my arms to the universe. It was incredible. I was so proud of myself. Then, we were ready to descend down the other side. Phew, I thought, I'm ready for the easy part.

Silly me.

Shortly into the downhill climb, my body starting communicating with me for the first time that day. "Melanie," it said, "what do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, body," I replied, "I'm just going to scurry down this little mountain now. Don't worry. Thanks for sticking with me as I pushed up, but this will be easy. Just hang in there."

Just to be clear about its disagreement with this sentiment, my body continued to send me jabs of pain in my ankles, then my knees, then my hips, then - well, everywhere else. I couldn't believe how much more difficult it was to go down than up. I said aloud, "Wow, restraint is so much more of a challenge." And it hit me. How true.

The "doing" energy in life has always been easy for me. I welcome the physical challenge of pushing up against a rock to climb over it. I feel at home on the stage, and can speak or sing in front of hundreds of people with casual confidence. I love change, I invite drama, and I take secret pleasure in most conflicts and debates. To this, people look and say, "Wow, she's so brave! She's strong and confident and articulate" and blah blah blah. I allow myself to hear this and I allow it to get me off the hook for actually pushing myself in life, which really has nothing to do with any of these things. Just because I stand up on stage doesn't mean that I'm brave, it just means it's easy for me. Now, holding my tongue at times or allowing someone else to have time on stage - those are challenges I could stand to overcome.

It's easy for me to think I'm doing something great when I forge ahead with full speed and power up a steep mountain. That sort of task takes kinetic, moving, forceful energy, which I seem to have in abundance (often to my own demise). But coming down the mountain is something different entirely. You have to look very carefully where you place your foot, because your ankles are in a very precarious state of tilt, and could turn over at any moment. You have to hold yourself back at every step, or you will just slide and tumble down the dry leaves, hitting unforgiving stones along the way. Hiking down a mountain requires patience, modesty, and humility.

I finally did get back down that mountain, and it taught me a lesson or two along the way. So I did what any healthy, fit, energized hiker would do after a refreshing climb - I had a double bacon cheeseburger and a cigarette. Hey, no one said anything about giving up vices as part of the challenge!

The Things we Put On

I had a great idea for a Halloween costume to wear to my school for today's parade. I was planning to get it all together last night. Then our water was turned off by the water company for a "misunderstanding" about the bill. So instead of costume-preparation, I spent a good part of the evening straightening that out, and had to sleep at boyfriend's place (where there are no costume-making materials) so I could take a shower and brush my teeth. Needless to say, I walked in to school today woefully un-costumed. I was the fuddy-duddy teacher who didn't dress up. :( But my students, in their brilliance, came up with a perfect idea for me - "Melanie! You should be your desk!" The second I nodded in assent, there was a flurry of chaos around me as little hands started taping post-its, pens, highlighters, and paper clips on to every part of my body. They made a great costume for me, and just in time for the parade!

Watching all the kids run around in their costumes at recess today was kind of a trippy sight. There was a fluffy pink princess chasing a cowboy, chasing a jar of peanut butter. Harry Potter was shooting hoops, and there was a jump-roping Sarah Palin. One kindergarten Spiderman gave me (unrequested) lessons on how to shoot spiderwebs from my hands. (He eventually walked away, shaking his head. I think he gave up on me.) All the kids seemed so much more confident today. Just a few tweaks to their everyday appearance, and they were invincible.

It reminded me of something one of my room mate's said to me recently. I think was talking about single-hood, and how badly it seemed to suit me. I was saying how I didn't think I liked being married, but now that I'm single, I realize I'm even worse at that. I was whining about not knowing who I was or where I belonged and waah, waah, waah.

I said something like, "Well, I like you guys and all (my roommates, that is), but I just don't seem to do this single-girl thing as well as you. I don't know if it works for me. I don't think it's me."

Laura said, "Melanie, sometimes you just try things on for awhile - like a costume. You put it on, move around it, and see how it feels. It doesn't have to be you forever. It can just be you right now."

So I was standing out in the howling wind on the field today, watching these superheros and fairies chase each other, and I wondered what things we put on. I guess I'm wearing the single-girl costume now. Boyfriend or not, I'm still "single" instead of "married." (I choose to ignore the "divorced" box.) I'm walking around and talking in it, I'm playing the part. Maybe there's pieces of this costume that will stick with me when I take it off and put on a new one. Maybe this will be my costume for a long time. I guess thinking of this stage in my life as a costume makes me feel a little more powerful; like I can almost fool myself into thinking I'm choosing this state, and I'm still in control.

blustery days

When I was a kid, I had this computer game for our old-school Apple computer called "Winnie the Pooh & the Blustery Day." The premise was that a blustery day had blown through the Hundred Acre Wood and scattered everyone's belongings all over the place. You had to follow clues to find everyone's things, then return them to their rightful owner in time for Christopher Robin's big birthday picnic at the end. It was timed, so it was very stressful (well, for an 8 year old).

This morning, as I was drinking coffee at my kitchen table, I noticed the way the wind was blowing the leaves outside the window. It was one of those indecisive winds, moving one way, then the next, without any warning. The leaves were not blowing from one side of the yard to the other. Instead, they danced in circles and swoops, controlled by the wind's finicky path. It was definitely a blustery day.

A lot of people I know seemed to have very odd, life-changing weeks this past week. One of my room mates decided that she is going to move to Hawaii next summer. My other room mate is helping her mother move this weekend. Another friend heard from a serious old flame that she hadn't spoken to in four years and it has thrown her world up in the air. Another friend confronted many of his demons and has been working them through for the first time in awhile. As for me. . . well, I've just had a very soul-searching week in terms of love gained and love lost and love found again. It was also the first really, truly cold week of the season. One morning, my windshield even had scrape-worthy frost on it.

So I'm sitting here thinking about blustery days; what they cause us to find, and what they may cause us to lose. What has this autumn wind scattered around for my friends and me? What pieces of us are lying scattered around, waiting to be found? But more importantly, should we go find them, or should we just let the blustery wind carry them away?

Looking for Love at the DMV: a short story

"Man in the red jacket!" the throaty female voice shouted towards the long line of disgruntled faces in front of her. "You the last one to walk in. Next person behind you gonna need ta' wait ri' here till I call all the rest of y'all." She responded to the collective sigh of the group by shouting, "Y'all are gonna get served, you just gotta wait out here 'till there's room for yous." And with that, she turned around and went back into the warmth behind the clear glass door. I watched her step laboriously to her little stool, where she had probably been perched for the better part of the day. Her large, round backside threatened to squeeze through her government-issued, mud-colored pants. Her wooden billy club banged against her thigh with each shift of her step. (Why did she need a billy club?) She resumed talking to the equally uninterested employee beside her. I watched their bored mouths make words through the glass.

I shivered against the quick, autumn air. I turned back to my cell phone and sent another text, trying to pass the time until I would be lucky enough to grace the doorway of the DMV with my fellow DC residents. I heard a "What's up sweetie?" behind me, and decided to ignore it. It went away - back to its place at the corner, probably to try out the brilliant pick-up line on other unsuspecting females.

The voice was enough to make me glance around a bit, though. The DMV was in what appeared to be an old McDonald's building. (I had a sudden craving for a Big Mac. . . no a McFlurry. . . no a sausage McGriddle. . .) I was certainly the only white person as far as I could see, not an uncommon situation to be in in this part of Northeast. Without commenting too much on race, let me just say that when you're one of the only woman in a sea of bored, urban, male faces, it's a not a good idea to make eye contact, lest you mistakenly convey interest in a sexual relationship to commence immediately. I accidentally met a few gazes as my eyes swept my surroundings, and now I had lots of smiles and nods and "Mmm hmms" coming my way. Sigh. Great. Maybe at least this will be entertaining.

I checked my phone again for a new text. Nothing.

At last I was called in. To my surprise, I was met with a metal detector of airport-security-caliber right inside the door. I laid my purse on the conveyor belt and tried to walk through. BEEP BEEP BEEP. Right. The watch. Try again. BEEP BEEP BEEP. "Are you wearin' a belt, m'am?" I gave a gracious smile and thought, is this really necessary? Removal of belt. One more time. . . and . . . we're clear.

"Proceed to the desk right there wit' your papers, m'am." I proceeded to the desk, arms overflowing with a belt, a watch, a bulky winter jacket, a purse, and every paper that bears my name on god's green earth. (I've been sent home from the DMV one too many times for forgetting some ridiculous proof-of-something, and I wasn't taking any chances.)

"Can I help you?" All of their voices sounded the same. All had that same, hollow, exhausted air to them. It was as though their words barely had the energy to make it out, and so fell, splattered on the floor just inches from their launching point.

"Yes," I responded cheerfully, still trying to re-dress myself in public, which was slightly humiliating. (No one else seemed to have the belt problem.) "I recently moved from Maryland to DC and I need to get a new license and register my car so I can park in front of my house in Northwest." She looked at me as though she just couldn't deal with this chipper white girl right now. Perhaps my sentences were too complete? "I'm not sure what you need, but I brought my old license, my passport, social security card, birth certificate, lease, utility bill, vehicle title, registration, proof of ins -"

"Just gimme all'a it," she cut me off, hand outstretched, waiting for the pile of documents. She took one quick glance through them. "You ain't got DC insurance. Can't help you." She handed all the documents back to me and motioned for the next person in line to step forward.

"I'm sorry?" I said, more patiently than I felt. I had been putting this trip off for two months, racking up parking tickets in front of my own house rather than face the harsh human reality at the DMV. I wasn't going to go quietly. "When I called my insurance, they said I had to get my new license & registration from you guys before they could give me DC insurance. Surely you can help me." Lovely smile. Batted eyes.

"Nope." Helpful. Thanks.

"Well, couldn't I at least switch my license today, and come back another time to register my vehicle?"

Sigh. "Fine. Gimme your stuff again." Sigh. Gee, how magnanimous. She loudly snapped all of my documents down to a white, plastic clipboard along with a form to fill out, and motioned me to have a seat and wait for my number.

I squeezed my way through the rows of black, dented chairs, bumping into several knees. They didn't even look as I passed. All eyes were glued lazily to the tiny TV, hanging precipitously from a corner of the ceiling. The news reporter on the screen updated us on the campaigns for the upcoming elections. She was so far away, in her red pantsuit, crown of soft, brown hair, and mask of carefully-placed makeup. So far from this dirty place. Her voice won out over the impatient murmur and mumble bubbling up and falling again all around me.

I decided not to get upset that I'd have to come back a second time to register my car. At least I could get my new license today. It will not have been a total waste. I started to fill out the form with the standard, externally identifying answers about myself. The woman next to me cursed under her breath each time a new number was called that was not hers. She said aloud, to no one in particular, "How come they callin' C47 when they ain't even call B47 yet? Shit. They ain't even call any B's. This is whack. I don't think no one's payin' attention. I been waiting here all day. Shit." And on she went, gradually dying out as no one gave her the sympathy she was hoping for. But then the next number would appear, and it was not hers, and she would begin the tirade all over again.

My number was called just as I finished writing down all the other states in which I had previously held licenses, and all the other names I may have used. (PA, MD, and Cobb. . . I think that's it.) This new woman, who seemed not-so-new due to her uncanny similarities to each of the other employees I had already encountered, began processing my papers once again. As she was typing, I asked, "Can I still register to vote? I'm registered somewhere, but I don't know whether it's my old DC address, my Silver Spring address, or my Laurel address."

"It's too late to register for this election," she stated flatly, and continued punching things into her computer. "Where you been livin for the past four years since the last election?"

"Well, all those places," I admitted, a little hesitantly.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Wait. You had a DC license before?" she asked, responding to something that had come up on her screen.

"Oh, um, I guess so. Sorry. I couldn't remember if I got a new one when I moved here from Pennsylvania four years ago. I guess I did." She shook her head and furrowed her brow as she continued staring into her computer. She seemed very frustrated by this new information. There was a long pause where neither of us spoke, but the tension between us grew into a tangible thing. "Is that a problem?" I asked.

"Well yeah. It's a problem I gotta fix now."

Another pause.

"Well, is there anything I can do?" I was afraid this would keep me from getting even this small task done while I was here, although I couldn't imagine why.

"Yeah," she stated, finally looking right at me. "You can stop moving around so much."

Excuse me? I debated on whether to tell her that I had gotten divorced and that's why I've been moving around and that my heart has been broken more than once this year and I didn't need her judgemental bullshit simply because she didn't want to spend two extra minutes changing some information on her computer, but I decided not to waste my energy. It didn't matter.

"Ok, I'll get right on that," I said with a sugary smile.

After getting my new picture taken, I took my pile of documents, picked up my dignity off the floor, and left that old McDonald's building. As I walked past the long line still growing outside, I kept hearing her voice in my head. . . You can stop moving around so much. This whole system is really set up for permanence. I guess it's expected that we will all live in one place and keep one name and still know where we're registered to vote. Our lives shouldn't see that much upheaval in four years. God bless America. God bless stagnation. In this land of the free and the home of the bureaucracy, we are just not meant to change.

when love is worth fighting for

Well, when is it?

My husband and I started talking about splitting up a full year before we actually did. We would get into those same, recycled arguments/discussions about the same things that annoyed the spit out of us about the other one. We'd fight about it, apologize, make up, be happy, and then do it all again the next month. Each time, the discussions went further and further into the maybe-this-isn't-actually-going-to-work territory, until we finally loosened our grip and let go. But each time we considered splitting up, the same question would arise: "Are these just normal issues that all couples go through? Should we just be able to work these out and stop complaining? Or is this the kind of stuff that makes people split up?" I wanted to channel Harriet the Spy from that book I read when I was in 4th grade, and get a notebook and spy on all of my neighbors. I wanted to know the intimacies of other couples' lives. How much do people really put up with? And how do they know when it's too much?

I thought that by leaving, I might gain some clarity about whether our issues really were "too much." But to this day, after 9 months away and a few more guys in between than I'd like to admit, I still don't know if I've made the right decision! I just wish he was some sort of drug addict or abusive asshole, so I could point to that and say, "There! That's why I left!" But he's not. He's actually a really tender, funny guy who did wonderful things for me over the five years that we were together. But for some unknown reason, we just couldn't make each other happy in a permanent sort of way. It just wasn't working. So even though we weren't sure if we were giving up too early, or for the wrong reasons, we said "Enough is enough" and called it quits.

Now I have the same opportunity with another man whom I love very much. (So soon? I know many of you are thinking. Well, love doesn't always give you a choice or work on Dr. Phil's timeline. So it's here now and I'm dealing with it. Judge away if you'd like.) Now I'm asking myself once again, "When is it too much?" I seem to have a faith in love that just won't die, against all odds. It beats me up and I go back for more. It kicks me in the mouth and I turn my face up for a kiss. I just love love, and I want so badly to believe in romance. I want to believe that love is worth fighting for.

I want to believe that sometimes the courageous thing is not walking away. That sometimes the courageous thing is sticking with the relationship and wading through the shit - together. All my single girlfriends seem to have this "I'm not gonna change anything for a man, no way nuh uh" attitude, complete with finger snaps and big don't-mess-with-me eyes. But they are just that - single. When is it ok to be a strong woman who also loves a man? Is it always weak to forgive them when they act like stupid assholes? Is it really that needy to want a man to lean on occasionally? A partner who can be a safe place to fall? If being a strong woman means not needing a man, I don't know if that's a kind of strong I want to be.

I really need to believe that love is worth fighting for. And I hope that someday I will be right.

traveling in Washington D.C.

The past two days have felt like traveling. It's like I've been on vacation in my own city. After my hazy day of sleep, separation, and recovering from Saturday night's gig, I dragged myself out to my weekly Sunday night dinner party. I drove there shrouded in a mind-fog. I wasn't even sure I wanted to go, but I had been napping on and off all day and I needed to get out of that bed for a little bit. On the way, my room mate called, already there, and asked how it went with the. . . separation conversation. So I guess she and everyone else already knew by the time I got there.

I pulled up and the host (my Palestinian friend who does all the cooking), walked out front to meet me at my car. He opened my door, helped me out, and hugged me. He said, "We're so glad you're here." I started crying like a baby on his shoulder. He took the beer from my hands and led me up the driveway to the circle of warm, welcoming people. Right away two more close friends came up and hugged me, to which I responded with more tears. Damn. This week was the largest the dinner party had ever been, and there were lots of people I didn't know, all whom were probably wondering why the hell this girl shows up 3 hours late and starts crying. Eh, fuck 'em.

The rest of the night was just surreal. It was rather cold, so for the first time, we had to eat inside and not on the back veranda. (Don't you love that word - veranda? It's not used nearly enough.) We opened up the dining room and gathered around the huge, dark wooden table. I sat back and watched the scene unfold. There were about 20 people of all different nationalities, ages, and backgrounds, all laughing, eating, reaching for food, passing dishes, oohing and ahhing over the delicious spread, pouring wine, and vascillating in and out of various conversations about days at work, politics, religion, philosophy, food, and relationships. There was roasted eggplant in rice, cous-cous salad, cold salad with these special Palesinian herbs, several kinds of cheese, and then there was pumpkin pie, pumpkin cookies, and peach-praline pie. Halfway through the meal, this hip-looking couple walks in the front door. They're from Denmark. They know the New Zealand roomate. They're here for dinner. Great. Then these random, tattooed people came in from outside where they were smoking and started saying all kind of crazy, drugged-up stuff that made everybody laugh. We were laughing at them, not with them, but they didn't know it. Then I met this stunningly-beautiful couple that works in film. The woman reads palms and does your i-ching, and the guy has a mohawk and is writing a memoir. Billy Bob Thorton is in their phone. They are moving to LA.

Finally around 10 we gathered our things and started giving hugs and kisses goodbye. We piled 6 people into my little Honda Civic and laughed all the way home. Then we didn't want to go home, so we wandered out to U St. and ended up at this little reggae club. We were the only white people there. We drank margaritas, got hit on by every guy in the place, danced, and laughed until the placed closed and we had to leave. But no - we weren't done yet. We walked down to get some pizza and continued our crazy night. I think we finally made it home and into bed by 3.

And that's just Sunday. Today, I called off of work with my room mate, who is also a teacher. I decided to give myself a "me" day. My room mate's friend was in town this weekend from Denver, and so we took off to spend a girl day with her. We slept in until noon, watched some steamy episodes of The Tudors while we drank some spiked coffee, and finally left the house at 2. The three of us met our other good girl friend, who happens to be currently unemployed and available during the day, out for a walk around the city. We went to the National Gallery, then walked down the Mall to the sparkling fall light of the sun illuminating all the little pieces of dust in the air as they floated around the monuments. We ended our walk at the Lincoln Memorial just in time to watch the sun set over the Potomac. Someone said, "I wish we had a song right now," so I sang. And it was silent except for my singing, which seemed to reach very, very far. We waited until the sun was completely down, then spilled into a cab and headed to Eastern Market for a great Cuban dinner.

Now I am home. My vacation is over. I need to go back to work tomorrow and face a lot of things I have not been ready to face this weekend. I don't know how I will do. I don't know if I have the strength to face the day. But right now - right now, I am content. Right now I can be. These past two days have shown me that I can access my free-traveling-spirit right here in my own city. I remembered all the things I learned about myself this summer. I am still my own best friend. And even if just for two days, life was good.

what loneliness?

There are two kinds of loneliness: loneliness that arises from being alone, and the loneliness that arises from being surrounded by people but feeling alone. The second is much, much more devastating. This weekend, I broke through both of them.

At my gig, I was amazed by how many people came. There were three groups of people in the bar for me. As I was singing, I could see a large group of co-workers and their spouses to my left; smiling, bouncing to the songs, looking so excited to be there. To my right was a group of my room mates and friends, screaming for me, cheering me on with all their hearts. And right in the center were my parents, who drove from Pennsylvania to be there, in a bar, outside their comfort zone, to hear their daughter sing music that they would never listen to otherwise; and also my aunt & uncle who drove up from VA Beach to hear me, even though it was my aunt's birthday and the first time she'd ever spent her birthday away from her own kids. My mom cried with pride for me. My boss came. My room mate's boyfriend said to me, "I didn't want to come hear this hippie music tonight. I was comfortable at home. But you rocked, Mel. I'm so glad I came."

I felt close to my band members. I felt love from every direction. It seeped in through all the little cracks in my being and filled me up, whether I wanted to recognize it or not. I could no longer feel lonely. I realized that although I may not have people in my physical space with me at all times, I am not alone. Not at all. So I made the choice to stop feeling lonely. I made the choice to accept the love.

And now, emboldened by this new knowledge, I am single again. And yes, I realize that I might be lonely as a result of that decision. But loneliness that comes from being without a partner is much more empowering that loneliness that clings to your pathetic spirit even when you're in a relationship. So I'm back to channeling my Europe spirit. I'm feeling liberated, strong, and free. The world is open to me. I'm ready to jump out of planes and dance with strangers and say "yes" to life all over again. I am amazed at the resilience of my own spirit. Hooray for me. Hooray.

directions please

Every time I use my GPS I want to write a blog entry about what it says.  All the language is just dripping with analogies.  Before I left for Europe, I had a dream that I got into a taxi in some ambiguous European city that could be any European city.  The cab driver didn't know how to get where I wanted to go, so I took my GPS out of my purse and let him use it.  But then, after he dropped me off, I realized that he still had my GPS.  I started running after the cab, screaming after him, "Wait!  You have my GPS!  Please come back!  How will I know where to go?"  He didn't hear me, and eventually I became exhausted from running.  I collapsed into a breathless pile of tears and frustration on the European sidewalk, repeating, "How will I know where to go?" to myself over and over until I woke up.

So now my GPS says, "Prepare to turn left in point seven miles."  Thank you GPS.  "Prepare to get divorced."  What?  "Prepare to be lonely."  Wait a second.  "Prepare to question every decision you make for the rest of your life and to live an unsure existence, constantly searching for human companionship where the benefits of intimacy outweigh the annoyances of coexistence."

Where was my GPS for that?

the lost hours

Our days are broken up into chunks of time: work, school, the commute, dinner, bedtime, etc. There are certain times that are acceptable for public socialization; times when we silently approve being out and about, interacting, bumping into others, smiling, not being lonely, etc.

The hours between 8am and 3pm for me are work hours. I'm hardly ever lonely during those hours. I chuckle with co-workers in the staff room, get excited (or frustrated) with my awkward middle-school students, and do lots of things that make me feel productive and super-starish.

Socialization hours usually start at 8pm for twenty and thirty-somethings. Whenever my friends and I have plans, they always start at 8pm. I don't know why this is the magical hour, but it is. No one ever seems to be able to meet for dinner or drinks or a debate party or whatever before 8pm. So my late evening hours are taken care of.

But what about those lost hours? Like between 6:30 and 7:30am when I'm getting ready for work? Or between 4 and 8pm when I'm trying to kill time between work and socialization hour? Or from 10pm until I go to bed? Or early on a Saturday or Sunday morning? You know what those are? Those are family hours. Those are hours when only the people who know and love you best would be with you. The hours when you don't have to have your hair or even your teeth brushed to be interacting with someone. You might not even be doing anything other than co-existing in a room; simply sharing space and energy. Those are hours you don't plan for. They just happen. And if you have a family, and you live with them, you're never lonely during those hours.

Sometimes I hear my married friends complain about the little annoyances of living with their spouse. ("He always leaves the shower curtain open and it gets mildewy." "He plays too many video games." "He farts on me.") Or I hear my friends who are parents complain about their kids. ("They are so loud, running around the house tearing things up." "They never want to eat what I make for dinner." "They have bloody noses all over the pillow case.") And I think, what I wouldn't give to have someone fart on me during one of those lost hours, or to deal with screaming children running through my house. I would take screaming and fighting over silence any day. Any freaking day at all. Anything to fill up those lost hours.

ring ring

I cradle my phone in my arms like a small, weaning infant. I stare into its hollow, black face; hoping, waiting for it to light up electric blue and sing to me. It gives me nothing. I carry it everywhere I go - downstairs to make coffee, into the bathroom, out onto the front porch. In the car, I take it out of my purse and rest it delicately in my cup holder for even the shortest of drives. I don't know what I'm waiting for. I don't want small talk. I don't have the energy to say howareyou and whatsup and goodtohearfromyou and talktoyoulater. Yet I wait. Sometimes I feel like this stupid little piece of electricity is an extension of me. Every time it bounces around and bleats out its silly little tune, I know that somewhere, someone is thinking of me. But then they call. And I say hi. And they say hey. And I say whatsup. And they say doyouwannagoto_______ or werehavinga_______doyouwannacome. And I say no. noidon't.

flesh-tearing, vengance-seeking, fire-breathing anger

Sometimes life can be going just fine. You have just enough to do to fill your time so you're not too bored or too over-committed. You have some good friends for fun times, a boyfriend for cute kisses & long walks, and family for support. You may be in a band, which makes you sound much cooler than you really are. You probably take yoga and are pretty good at it, and maybe you are even dropping some excess pounds. You have a job that is challenging and fulfilling, even on its most stressful days. It's autumn, and the increasingly-chilly air is probably making you want to curl up inside yourself and take comfort in all that you know is good and true in life. Yeah, life can be going just fine. . . until that THING that makes you angrier than a bull with a fresh shot of dart in the ass comes along and takes a big dump on everything. For me, it's a person.

I think I've always had a habit of focusing all of my anger & negative emotions on one person or situation in my life. It's much easier than dealing with the feelings and trying to see what they could teach me about myself. For the past several months, one person has been the recipient of all my pent-up frustration with life; of all my violent thoughts & irrational fears. (Don't waste energy trying to figure out who it is. Those of you that know, know, and those of you that don't, won't.) I usually handle this by just trying to avoid the person - even avoiding just talking about them or hearing their name mentioned. However, this is not always possible. Sometimes I'll hear someone say their name, even if if they're talking about someone else who happens to have the same name, and my blood just curdles inside of me. My intestines wrap themselves into a knot, my lungs seem to drain of air, and all the blood rises to fill my face like a quickly-approaching tide. If I were to actually see this person, I don't know what I would do. I am afraid the ravenous tiger that lives inside of me might just peel my skin back in one slash of its claw, climb out, and devour them with sickening, devilish delight. Sometimes I have dreams about causing them terrible pain. . .

Whoa. Back up the train. This sort of violence from a self-identified pacifist tree-hugger? I seem to have no problem having love and compassion for the poor Iraqis whose country we have decimated with our war, or the Mexican immigrants who are so misunderstood in the desire to provide a good life for their families, or the homosexual community who is so marginalized and judged, but when it comes to someone who is right in front of me - someone who may have wronged me or continues to be a thorn in my side (more like a festering sore growing on my ass), I want to take out my AK-57 (is that a weapon? i don't even know) and do some video-game style damage. I want vengance. I want blood.

I keep trying to rid myself of this negative karmic emotion. I don't want this sort of bad energy in my life. I don't want there to be someone for whom I have such contempt. I have written letters in my journal to this person, sometimes expressing anger, sometimes trying to express love. I have written little vignettes from this person's perspective, trying to put myself in their shoes and understand why it is that they behave the way they behave. None of it works. I just want them to disappear. Not necessarily to have pain or sufferring, but to just - poof - be gone without a trace and without consequence. To perhaps accidentally find the edge of the earth and - whoops! - fall off.

our place in nature

Last night I was watching episodes of "Planet Earth" on DVD. In case you don't know, I'm an absolute nerd about nature shows, and Planet Earth is just about the best thing to happen to my TV set since the New Kids on the Block concert was televised live in 4th grade (I had a big sleepover party to watch it). So as I was watching this amazing nature show, I was struck over and over by the parallels between our lives and so many hidden aspects of nature. I will list several here, along with the questions they inspired in me.

1. Some animals in remote parts of the world live their entire lives without ever seeing a human. How must that affect them? What would they do with a human if one ever approached? They probably wouldn't know enough to be afraid. Do they think they're at the top of the food chain? Why does that somehow feel sad to me? It makes me think of how many species I will live my whole life and never see. Do I need to see them for them to be real, worthwhile? Do they need to see me?

2. Cicadas emerge from underground every 17 years, filling the forest with their billions (yes, billions) of clicking, delicate wings. Where do they go in between? Are they alive underground? If so, are they hibernating? Do they exist in a sort of egg or larvae state for that long? Do they just take 17 years to grow? If so, how long does it take us to grow enough to use our wings? Do we know? How do the cicadas know exactly the right moment to emerge again? And what's fascinating is that as soon as they emerge, they climb a tree and shed their exoskeleton, as though they've just been waiting, pining to break free from that crispy, brown prison.
I remember collecting cicada shells as a kid in West Virginia. I was enraptured with the look of them - the eye bulges still so intact, the little hairs on the legs still sticking straight out, the neat slit straight down the back where the real creature had escaped. Do we leave little shells of ourselves lying around? If you go back to Paris, will you find a little shell of me there, along the Seine, with a wine bottle in my hand and a smile on my face, gazing at the Eiffel Tower at dusk? If you return to Lock Ridge Furnace on the afternoon of August 6th, 2005, will you see a shell of me in a long, white dress, holding my Dad's hand, bubbling over with tears at the walk I was about to take? Will there be a tidy slit down my back where I had crawled out?

3. When bucks spar, they don't fight until the bloody end like many male animals; eventually, one just walks away. One just gives the hell up. How do they know when it's over? How do they know when this battle is no longer worth fighting? How are they so much smarter than us that they know when self-preservation needs to be valued above pride?

4. What in the world is up with annuals? I will never understand how plants can come back year after year without being replanted. They live fully all summer long, turning their little faces up to the warmth of the sun, reaching tall and proud. Then they fold themselves up neatly and tuck themselves back into the earth from which they emerged. Now they slumber all winter. Again, just like the cicadas, are they still alive underground? Is it just a seed? Just a root? How can they tell when spring has broken and it's safe to push through the earth one more time? What fortitude they have! What unrelenting determination to live! Nothing can stop them from cracking through that frozen earth and reaching skyward year after year after year. Are we annuals or perennials? How many seasons do we get to live?

disciplinary action

I seem to be "disciplining" my students a lot lately, for lack of a better term. Since I work at a Quaker school, we don't really discipline in the most common form of the word. It's more of "Let's talk about what happened and try to figure out solutions." One of my kids is dealing with anger issues. One is dealing with some sort of unidentified emotional turmoil. One is dealing with hyperactivity and attention issues. Several are dealing with learning differences (known as learning disabilities in the old days). Me? I'm dealing with a divorce, a new living situation, intermittent loneliness, and occasional bursts of anger and frustration.

When my kids have these issues, we talk them through. The parents come in and we figure out whether they might need therapy, testing, medication, self-discipline, or just a good smack (kidding. . . mostly). The parents at my school are awesome. They are so committed to giving their children the best that they can, and they bleed, sweat, and cry over their child's pain way more than the child does. They ask me what I think. They ask how they can help. They take second jobs to pay for tutoring or psychotherapy.

But who is doing this for me? I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I'm doing pretty well lately. But every time I have a parent-teacher conference, a little part of me wishes that several people from my life would have a conference about me and figure out what the hell to do to solve my problems. I guess you're supposed to do that on your own as an adult.

There's this sense that I'm not really supposed to struggle with the same things that my kids do. I say "It's ok to feel angry, but we don't hit." Except when we do. I say, "I understand that you have a lot going on, but you need to find a way to do your homework and fulfill your responsibilities." Yeah, like I do that.

I have hit people. Sometimes I feel so angry that I want to scream and run out of the school building and call my parents and ask them to come pick me up. But I can't tell that to the student who did that today. Because I am the picture of calm. Of maturity. Of self-assuredness. Hmm, these kids are in trouble with me.

Autumn non-lonliness

I seem to only post on here when I'm feeling sad or lonely. As I look back through old postings, I seem like quite a pathetic mess. But there are long stretches of time when I don't post because I'm too busy out in the world, being inspired by my students, laughing with friends, feeling all warm and fuzzy from the people who love me. So I thought I'd simply share with you how my lovely, Fall, non-lonely week has been.

On Wednesday, I went to an open mic at a cool little hipster club in Arlington with my band and my boyfriend. We kicked ass and garnered more applause than any other act. I stayed out waaay past my bed time, but I felt like such a rock star!

On Thursday, I went to a wonderful yoga class with my friend and roommate. Then we came home, made some delicious green curry with couscous, and headed over to another friend's house to laugh at Sarah Palin's over-plucked eyebrows and embarrassing mispronunciation of the word "nuclear" during the debates. There were about twenty of us - 20 & 30 somethings with microbrews and homemade hummus, crowded into a little Adams Morgan living room, draped over thrift store couches and lying on hard wood floors, participating with angsty fervor in our "democracy." I stayed out late - again - but it was worth it.

Friday, my lack of sleep started to catch up with me and I needed a low-key night. So the boyfriend and I walked into town, ate some empanadas and Rita's, and rented a low-budget Japanese horror flick from the redbox at Giant. We fell into a blissful, early sleep to creepy images of zombies and bleak, grey post-apocalyptic worlds.

That brings me to today, Saturday. I rolled out of bed around 11, just in time to greet my bandmates, Josh and Julian for band practice at my house. We have a big gig coming up on the 18th, and had a lot of work to do. We sat out back in the brisk fall air and played through the entire set. We each also shared a new song that we wrote this week, which was exciting because we're starting to really grow and create some pretty unique stuff. Then we ordered pizza, and made our new myspace page. (www.myspace.com/nativesonsmusic) Josh had to go to work then, but Julian and I sat out on the front porch for a little longer, listening to music and just enjoying the beautiful day.

Now I am writing this entry on my front porch. Runners jog by, women push strollers, and all kinds of loud Columbia Heights folk color the street with their ever-widening vocabulary of urban vernacular. Every now and then I get "hey baby" from a passerby, to which I scowl, but secretly blush. The noise is low and steady, mostly intermittent cars, various birds, and some Latino music fading in and out from a neighbor down the street. The combination of the sunshine and breeze feels like Halloween. It makes me want to eat soup and jump into piles of leaves.

Tomorrow I will work on some schoolwork in the morning, in my pjs, in my bed, with lots of coffee. That will be followed by a fun girls day: thrift-shopping for fall clothes, the Takoma Park folk festival, and finally, what we call our "urban posse." This is a weekly, Sunday night dinner at our friend's house. He makes the most amazing Pakistani food, and we all sit around at eat it while drinking wine, jamming (there's a keyboardist, a drummer, a few guitarists, a banjo player, and me - the singer, in addition to a few listeners), and talking about politics and love.

No, this week I am not lonely. I am not lonely at all.

This piece of writing is not from me, but from one of my students, who of course shall remain nameless. It is not even a finished piece, just a quickly-scrawled entry in his notebook. I happened to collect notebooks today and stumbled upon this entry. He had never shown it to me, and I'm not even sure which lesson he wrote it in response to, but it stopped me in my tracks. Something about it was just so. . . honest. So simple and beautiful. So I thought I would share it with my blog readers as well. Names have been changed and spelling has been corrected. :)

Josh is my older brother. He's a sophomore in high school, and that means he has a lot of homework! :( So that means he has less time to see me! :( And now he has soccer every day after school, so I have even less time to see him. But when I do see him it's one of the best things! When I pass his smelly old room, I'm reminded of him, so I push open the door and there he was doing his dumb homework. "Hi," I say. Then he got up and placed his computer on his chair and walked over and rubbed my head and gave me the biggest hug ever. "Hi," he warmly said. I loved that.

patterns

Last night I started taking guitar lessons. I have been writing songs since my separation in February, and I want to be able to put music to them. I have since relied on the guys in my band to match chords to my words. They do a nice job, but it's not always exactly what I hear in my head and it's really frustrating to hear music and not be able to make it real. So, guitar lessons.

So my teacher was showing me how each key had this natural progression of 8 chords that followed the same pattern of being major or minor. He started giving me all of this guitar/music jargon like "Then you can play the 3rd in Gmajor followed by the 7th which is always diminished." Yeah, ok. WTF?? I said, "I'm really trying to learn guitar so I make the music that I hear in my head. I want to match music to the melodies and lyrics I write. How will this help me do that?" He said, "Well, you have learn the patterns - mostly so you can break them. Then you can really do what you want with all the chords."

Whoa. Life-realization moment.

How true is that in almost everything? We have to learn our own patterns before we can break them up. I have had to learn all the patterns my husband and I spent years solidifying so I can now unlearn them. But if I never recognized them, I'd still be stuck in them, like a boring song that just plays major and minor chords up and down a scale in a predictable order. Once we learn our patterns, we can take them apart and put them back together in new, more melodic ways.

song

I wrote this song today, in the car on the way home from visiting my long-lost friend from college:

I used to know you
I think - well maybe not.
I closed my eyes and called you
by the name that I was taught.
You speak in bold, red letters.
They tell me what it means
dripping from fat Sunday lips
wrapped in American dreams.

I used to talk to someone
at night all alone.
But how can I be sure
you really made my heart your home?
Cause the voice that often spoke back
Sounded at awful lot like me
So maybe you're just something we created
Cause we're too scared to be free.

You don't have a face - you hide.
But they're all pushing through
Please tell me they're not you.

It just really seems like you lied.
This is not how I'm supposed to feel
If like they say - you're real.

Where's the promised safety and security?
Cause I just haven't figured out how to love you without hating me.

Family

I need a family. I don't mean I want to get married and have children, or that I want to move back home and live with my parents. I mean, I need to have people (or at least a person) in my life who I know loves me and knows me no matter what. Isn't that what family is for? Someone who waits for you to get home at the end of the day - who notices when you're late or thinks of you when they're at a flea market and buys you a scarf. If I got in a car accident and died today, I think it would be a few days before people would notice. I know that sounds dramatic, but everyone would probably assume that someone else knew where I was, because no one is just looking out for me but me.

Don't get me wrong, I know I have many people in my life who love and care about me a lot. But they all have someone else they love more. I'm nobody's number one. Not anymore. I'm a whole hell of a lot of people's number two or three, though.

Let's start with my biological family. I don't mean to piss in their wheaties here by saying that I don't have a family or that nobody loves me, wah wah wah. I know they love me. My parents have always made it clear that they will love me no matter what, and that as long as I'm trying my best they are proud of me. I know I can always go home and they will accept me with open arms. But over the past few years, it has become evident that what makes us up is so fundamentally different, that we will never truly know each other. I have to just check some really huge parts of myself at the door every time I go home. And I know my mom bites her tongue on a regular basis around me. We will just never be able to discuss some of the most important parts of my life. And that's something I'll just have to accept. This is the kind of relationship I will have with my family. Smiles and hugs at holidays, nice homecooked meals on weekends home, friendly phone calls during the week to see how life is. But they don't really know me, and I don't think they really can. And vice-versa, apparently.

Next, my husband. I had a family in him. He knew me fairly well. And even though he didn't agree with many of the things I believed or the choices I made in my life, he accepted me for who I was. He was waiting for me at the end of every day. I was the first person he called when he had anything to say. He was my safe place to fall. But when I chose to leave that, I ruined something that can no longer be repaired. And I don't think I even want it to be. For awhile, we remained friends, but he has recently cut that off. He wants to learn how to grow without me - a totally reasonable request. But now, when I just want to cry, I can't call him anymore. That family is over. Regardless of whether it was the "right" thing to do, it's over. And there's no turning back.

I have a boyfriend now. And that's nice. So I'm not lonely when I'm with him. But I can't be with him a lot, because - shocker - he has a life outside of me. He is divorced as well and has two kids. So he only has half of the week even available, because the other half he's with his kids, from his first family. So we get together, have a great time, and then he leaves to be with his number one and two people - his kids. How can I be upset about that? I can't. Of course he needs to do that. He's a great father. But it's just another example of the backseat I take in someone else's life.

And my roommates. Three girlfriends who are fun, intelligent, and inspirational to live with. But they have all been friends for a long, long time. And they have this whole network of friends that they met through PeaceCorps that I am just not a part of. I'm always the odd one out at every party. Because when they were 22, they were trekking the world, living in Zambia, meeting all kinds of fascinating people and developing these friendships that are still going strong now. When I was 22, I was getting married. Now I don't have my husband anymore, and there's not really a place for me in their world, as nice as they are and as much as they try to include me.

Then there's my students. They love me so much, and I thrive on that. I have very close relationships with many of them. They confide in me, trust me, and even call me "Mom" sometimes accidentally. But at the end of every day, they go home to their real families and leave me at school.

When I lived in my friend's basement for 6 months after leaving my husband, I started to feel like they were my family. Although I had my own complete apartment in her basement, I spent an awful lot of time with her, her husband, and her two kids. I pulled the older one's first tooth on a camping trip, and the youngest one still calls and asks me to come over now that I've moved out. They really tried to make me feel like a part of their family, and they are probably the closest I've come, but it's just not the same.

This is the perfect story to illustrate my feeling of being a floating island without a home. Last night, my roomates, my boyfriend, and I went over to another friend's house to watch the debates. We all had a great time, got a little drunk, and came stumbling home in a cab, laughing and still arguing about politics. My roomies (and the 2 girls staying with us this weekend - PeaceCorps friends of course) all went to their respective beds, and my boyfriend and I went to mine. My boyfriend woke up and left early in the morning to go get his kids for the weekend. I slept for another few hours. When I woke up, I could smell bacon and coffee downstairs, and I heard laughing from all the girls. I smiled, and couldn't wait to get down there and join in the Saturday morning girltime. But I walked downstairs to find out that they assumed I had left with my boyfriend. There was no more bacon, no more coffee, and no more champagne for the mimosas. They were all telling Zambian stories and laughing without me. I went to the kitchen to make an English muffin (sans bacon) and drink some plain orange juice (sans needed hangover champagne), and just started crying. They had all assumed I would be spending the day with my boyfriend, but he was with his "real" family. He had assumed I would be spending the day with them, but there didn't seem to be room for me in their family. And now here I sit, alone in my bed, typing this blog entry with no one to call. I fucking hate Saturdays. I feel like Eeyore. Thanks for noticing me.

egg dreams

After just finishing one of the most painful, life-interrupting menstrual periods of my life, I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be a woman.

Last weekend I got a total of about 4 hours of sleep, thanks to the nighttime spasms in my uterus, otherwise known as cramps. I was up for most of Friday night tossing and turning, but eventually a heating pad calmed them down enough for me to doze off at last. But Saturday night was just unbearable. I woke up at 2am (after going to bed at 1, thanks to my band's gig). I tossed, turned, writhed in pain, laid in every possible position, did yoga, drank tea, took medicine, walked around the house, did sit-ups - nothing worked. Finally, at 5am, crying, I called the 24 hour medical advice line for my health insurance. I felt so stupid calling for cramps, this female condition that many think is just psychosomatic. But I didn't know what else to do. I had never had pain like this. They told me to come in to their late-night clinic (sort of like an ER). After a hunched-over, moan-filled drive, I arrived, was promptly given a shot of painkillers in the ass, and slept in the doctor's bed until the pharmacy opened at 8am.

But this really got me thinking. What is this thing that happens to us females every month? As I sat on the toilet, watching the thick, red stream drip from me and blend with the clear water below, I couldn't help but see it as wasted baby potential. Another month of procreation down the drain - literally. Women go through this cycle every month of a rising possibility of offspring followed by a shedding of that hope, just to start it all again.

I am especially thinking about what this means culturally. Our bodies haven't changed for centuries - ever since women walked the earth, I assume. We do this each month. But there was a time when there was no such thing as birth control. Women just had sex and got pregnant when they got pregnant. This was probably at a time when they were living in villages or communities where there was more help to care for this large brood of children. But what does this monthly possibility of conception mean for an independent 21st century woman? I don't really want babies right now - I know that. I am hardly in a place where children would be practical. I don't have a husband anymore, my boyfriend already has 2 kids of his own and lots of other priorities in addition to me right now. I live with a bunch of single girls, have a more-than-full-time job, barely make enough money to support myself, live in a crazy non-child-raising part of the city, and want to keep travelling and exploring the world before I sit down and have babies. But my body doesn't listen to that. It doesn't know that. It still releases an egg every month and sends me a loud, strong message that says "You should be having a baby! You want a baby! Here is an egg for your baby! Go find a sperm and make a baby! Baby, baby, baby!" Any woman will tell you this is true. The female body speaks to us in this way, I swear. Then the egg passes. The possibility for fertilization is lost, and the desire for offspring goes along with it. Then we shake our heads as if waking from a dream and say, "What was that about? Did I just say I wanted a baby?"

Things to look forward to

To continue with the list-making trend as a way to bring an illusion of order to the mess that is my life, I offer you another one -

Things to look forward to this week:

Saturday
I'm trying to look forward to my band's gig tonight. My uterus is currently punishing me for being a woman, so standing on stage for an hour being rocker-chick isn't exactly what I'd like to be doing tonight, but I'll do my best.

Sunday
Spending the entire morning in my new bed, sleeping, reading, drinking coffee. I might see if my roommates would mind if we brought the TV, DVD player, coffee maker, and kitchen table into my bedroom so I can use them all without leaving my bed. Hmmm. . .
Free, delicious, homemade Pakistani food with good company at my new friend's house (Yes, I made a new friend! Several, actually! I might be able to partake in this dinner as a weekly event! I'm trying not to show them how excited I am about it! The exclamation marks aren't helping!)

Monday
Date with boyfriend. Possibly home-cooked, romantic-type meal.

Tuesday
I couldn't think of anything for Tuesday, so my roommate suggested I treat myself to something special after work. I think that's a brilliant idea. Maybe a new Cd. Maybe a new pair of shoes. Maybe new clothes. Maybe a splurge of a beauty product that I would never usually buy - like exfoliating stuff for my face or some kind of fancy hair conditioner. Maybe all of the above.

Wednesday
We get our new laptops from work! Every teacher is getting their own Fujitsu tablet laptop! I've been holding out on buying a new one for over a year, waiting for this moment! (For those of you that don't know, my current laptop is 6 years old, beeps for 5 minutes when you turn it on, takes about 20 minutes to start once it's done beeping, and has broken shift, backslash, and question mark keys. Oh - and you can't make a capital p. I'm going to go Office Space on its ass when I get a new one!)
Possibility of second date with boyfriend, if boyfriend decides he feels like it. I know - romantic.

Thursday
First day of new yoga session.
My "easy" day at school. (My kids have lots of specials classes.)

Friday
I couldn't think of anything for Friday either. When I asked my roommate for ideas for Friday, she said, "Isn't being Friday enough to look forward to?" She doesn't understand. Fridays have been my least favorite days since my separation. When you don't have something to do on a Tuesday, it's normal. It's just a lazy weekday. But when you don't have something to do on a Friday, it's depressing and embarrassing. So I think I might try to go up to Pennsylvania to see a friend for the weekend.


And that's my week. If anyone has anything exciting to add to the list for me, please let me know!

the lonely list

I've learned something about loneliness these past few months: it's always there. I don't mean this to be pessimistic, it's just an observation. When you've been as used to sharing your every moment with a life partner as I was, every moment without that is lonely. Even when I'm in a crowd of people, I feel like a little island floating around in between them, bumping into some, crossing over onto others, but never becoming part of them. Even when I'm happy - I mean completely happy-excited-full-of-life, I can feel that thin layer of loneliness underneath it all. Sometimes I simply acknowledge it to myself, smile, and continue with my day. Sometimes I let it linger for a little longer as it seeps into my facial expressions and pulls my voice down a bit. (Well, I shouldn't say I let it, it seems to have an agenda of its own.) Sometimes it just completely takes over my mind, body, & soul and drags my lifeless forms into a dark pit where no one can find me.

So, last night before bed, I did what any organized girl with too much time on her hands would do. I made a list.

Things to do when I'm lonely:
write a song
take a walk in the city
take a walk in a park
cook a good meal
buy a new book and read it in one sitting
call an old friend
call a new friend
make a new friend (this is a tough one)
go to an art museum or gallery
go dancing
clean or re-decorate my space
buy new clothes, shoes, or jewelry that will make me look spectacular
yoga
start an art project
write
take a weekend trip
research my next big travel destination (and dream of the money to actually go)
read poetry. . . aloud
find live music

and, just for good measure. . . another list . . .

Things NOT to do when I'm lonely:
start thinking about why I left my husband and romanticizing away the problems we had
rely on boyfriend-of-the-month to make me love myself
sit at home alone and feel sorry for myself
eat heaps of fried food and ice cream
send passive-aggressive texts to boyfriend-of-the-month looking for attention
assume that life will be this way forever

mattresses

Today marks a new day in my post-marriage life - I got a new mattress. As the mattress delivery guys flirted with me, hauled out my old mattress, and hauled in the new one, I started thinking about all the beds I've slept in over the last 7 months. Well really I started thinking about all the beds I've slept in since I was a child, but I think the last 7 months is more than enough for this blog entry, since I'm guessing it's more than most people's lifetimes.

The beginning of this year found me in a marriage bed, on a mattress purchased by my husband's parents, located in an uninspired bedroom, in a tiny apartment in Silver Spring, MD. This bed became the location of a series of ever-more-complicated arguments and late night discussions about differences and how they just weren't going away. But it was also the location of many fits of shared laughter, lazy Sunday morning reading days together, and a sense of stability and comfort.

Next was a borrowed bed in my friend's basement, where I moved when I left my marriage. Nothing about this bed felt like mine, except that it was the first one I slept in alone for five years. This was the bed where I cried myself to sleep for weeks on end, or punched the pillow or lay awake because it felt so cold and empty. I never seemed to have enough blankets to keep me warm. This bed saw some truly rough times.

From there, I slept in at least 15 different beds all over Europe. Some rented for the night, some offered for free from kind folks along the way. One mattress had a big brown stain, circled in sharpie marker with an arrow pointing to it that said "Yes, this is from sex." I actually felt the least lonely during this rapid-bed-transition time. Maybe it was because all the beds were so small, I didn't have room to feel any absence. Maybe it was because I moved around so much that I started to feel like my only home was my own body.

Upon returning, I moved to my new place in DC - a group house with 3 of my girlfriends. I bought a mattress from a friend of a friend to use here. When I picked it up, not only was the frame broken and the mattress a thin piece of shit, the boxspring didn't fit up my stairs. It was just a little too symbolic to be comfortable. After a few weeks sleeping on the dilapidated mattress on the floor and waking up with spring indents in my side, I broke down and walked to mattress discounters. I walked in and said, "Hi. How can I buy a mattress with no money?" Surprisingly, they had a plan for people just like me. Twenty minutes later, I was the proud owner of my very own, brand-spanking new queen sized mattress and split boxspring.

I guess this is the point where I stop changing beds every couple of months. I should probably count on sleeping on this mattress, in this bedroom, in this single-girl house for awhile. Is that supposed to make me feel independent? All I can think of is that Bill Withers song that says, "I'm tired of looking at lonliness and trying to call it freedom." I'd take dependable love over a new mattress any day.

personal power

Today in our Community Building unit, we discussed personal power. We talked about how each of us has a "personal power package" made up of our skills & knowledge, social position, social skills, abilities, strengths, talents, rights & responsibilities, and self-knowledge. There are some elements of our personal power that we control, and some that we are simply born into. We are always making choices about how to use the power we have.

The next class after community building was Word Work. I asked the kids to go back through their writer's notebooks and thoroughly edit every entry they've written in there so far this year (roughly 20 pages). Some kids are natural spellers, and hardly had anything to correct. Right away those kids said, "We're done. What can we do?" Before I could answer, one girl suggested, "Why don't we see if anyone needs help?"

So 4 kids went to the cozy corner (an area of our classroom with a window seat and pillows) and announced, "If anyone needs help checking their spelling, come over to our tutoring center and we'll help you." I was afraid the other kids who needed help wouldn't admit it, but several of them looked relieved, and headed over right away. The "tutors" quickly sat down and got to work. They carefully scanned each page of their "client's" notebook, pointing at misspelled words and gently offering solutions. They were so empowered by their role as helper, and the students who received help were so grateful to not be struggling alone anymore. The best part: no pairs of students working together were "best friends." They all went outside their comfort zone a bit and were willing to work with someone who they might not normally hang out with. There were even (gasp) boys working with girls!

I was so touched by this completely independent act of kindness on the part of the tutors, and vulnerability on the part of the tutees, that I went next door to ask my co-teacher to come and see. We stood at the doorway of the classroom, unnoticed by any of the kids. We watched them leaning over notebooks, nodding encouragements, and giving genuine smiles. Our eyes welled up with tears.

What would the world be like if we reached out a hand like this more often? If we didn't look at other people's struggles as none of our business? If we weren't afraid to ask for help when we needed it? Why can't I be more like my 5th and 6th graders? I am humbled by their courage and inspired by their strength.

what kids really want

Today I was telling my class how amazing they are. I was going on about how responsible they've shown me they can be, and how I'll be able to do more with them because they're such a capable class, and on and on with stuff teacher's say. I was hoping they would respond to this authentic affirmation with beaming smiles of pride. One kid raised his hand. I called on him, expecting some request like "So will we be able to go on cooler field trips and do fun stuff in class?"

What he said was, "So will you buy us cheap Chinese toys from those crappy catalogs that teacher's always get in the mail?"

Oh! So that's what kids want.

"I get it!"

These are a teacher's favorite words, and I seem to be hearing so much of them lately. Today, during a math class where the 5th graders were working with prime factorization (a particularly difficult concept), their excitement stopped me dead in my tracks. I was leaning over one student, helping him talk through a problem, when from one corner of the room I heard, "I get it!" Followed quickly by a "Me too!" an "Oh!" and a "It makes sense now!" I closed my eyes for a brief moment and allowed myself to be serenaded by the symphony of victorious voices. All else in my life may seem unstable, and I have certainly had a lot of not-liking-myself days lately, but in that moment, I was pure bliss. What a great job.

turn signals

This morning on the way to work, I experienced an incredible phenomenon. It seemed that everyone in the greater DC Metro area had lost the ability to use their turn signal. It's a rare disorder that a select few suffer from, but today was a statistical anomaly because everyone who drove in front of me seemed to be afflicted.

Some would slow down almost to a stop before making a surprise right turn. Some would simply stop in the middle of an intersection, much to my bafflement since there were no cars stopped in front of them, and eventually make an unannounced left turn when opposing traffic cleared. Some would merge over in front of me at their slightest whim, without the slightest notice. I was trying to keep things in perspective and remember that there are bigger things in life to get your panties in a wad about than turn signals, but by the time I got to work I was hopping mad and using some very colorful language.

So it got me thinking. Why does the lack of turn signals bother me so much? I think I take it as a much bigger statement. I feel like when people don't use their turn signals, they are saying that no one else matters. The turn signal may be the only device in a car that is soley for the purpose of drivers other than you. When you neglect to use it, you are sending the message that you think you are somehow above this established norm, and that everyone else can just figure it out without your assistance.

But that's just not true! We need each other! We need to admit that we are not driving on solitary country roads here. (Do you feel the analogy part of the blog entry coming on?) We share space on the road - and in life. We need turn signals to help us move smoothly from one part of the road to another. When we don't use them, we run into each other. When we make sudden moves with no warning to those around us, we have collisions. We all need to be responsible to think about how our decisions will affect other people, and to give them a little bit of warning before you cut them off for crying in a bucket! Don't just stop! Don't just change things! Help me out people - tell me why the jeepers you're doing what the bejesus it is that you're doing!! I can't handle it when everything around me is in chaos!

Finishing

This is not me. I don't finish things well. (And I certainly don't have abs that look like that.)

I am a great starter. If you have a project that you need some energy behind; someone to rally the troops and get things in motion - I am your woman. When I am excited about something, there is no stopping me. I will lose sleep, forego food, and abandon all other responsibilities in pursuit of the new idea, project, or hobby. But once things get rolling, it seems there is nothing to look forward to anymore, and I exit just as quickly as I had burst in.

There are many instances throughout my life where I have observed this phenomenon.

1. Books. If I am not captivated by a book in the first 10 pages, I'm done. Additionally, if I am midway or towards the end of a book I have been enjoying but it turns boring, I'm done.

2. Lessons. Piano, for example. When my teacher made me learn those boring classical songs instead of the songs by Jewel and Mariah Carey in my pop sheet music book, I lost patience and quit.

3. Jobs. I have never given more than 1 weeks notice to leave a job. In fact, I usually quit the same day that I decide I'm done there. When I had an especially bad night waitressing at Red Lobster, I got people to cover my scheduled shifts for the upcoming week, then told my boss I quit when I cashed out at the end of the night. I never went back. I never regretted it.

4. Boys. I have rather high expectations in this department, but this is where it gets confusing. I want all my boyfriends to be perfect - exciting at the right times, comforting at the right times, saying all the right things, etc. When they inevitably fail at this impossible task, I don't necessarily dump them right away, the way I would an unfulfilling job or book. I hold out for awhile, but do eventually let it go in pursuit of something more new and exciting. That's pretty scary for me to read in print.

grrrrrr. . .

In Nietzsche's "Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None," there is a chapter entitled “On the Three Metamorphoses.” In it, Nietzsche explains that there are three stages of metamorphoses that the human spirit can undergo in his or her lifetime: the camel, the lion, and the child. My travel-friend, J.J., told me about this, and I have been thinking about it a lot as of late. I don't pretend to be a philosophy professor, but this is my understanding of the idea.

The camel is the stage that we are all born into. This stage is about assimilating into society; storing cultural norms and accepting readily-available ideologies in order to blend in and make them match with your own personal experience. Think of all you absorb from society as being stored on your back and carried around. Most people never move from the camel stage.

The next phase is the lion. This is when your spirit rebels against the camel phase and calls everything it had been "storing" into question. One good thing about this phase is that it is often where creative people dwell; those who are willing to push boundaries and create beauty or life or inspiration where there was none before, however unconventional their methods may be. One downfall of this phase is its prolific, often unfocused, anger. Someone in the lion phase may be in the exciting process of individualization and self-discovery, but often only through thrashing and internal violence.

The third and final stage is that of the child. This is an overturning of both camel and lion phases, and a return to simplicity in childhood. Someone in this phase is neither accepting all that society would teach them nor beating up against it. Their spirits are not ruled by the future or the past, but simply live in the present - observing, living, breathing, smiling. In Eastern philosophy they would refer to this as enlightenment. In Christianity, I assume it was what Jesus referred to when he said that you must come to him as a child.

I'm sure it hasn't taken you blog-readers long to identify me as the lion, vis a vis my most recent blog posts about anger and my Christian past. Yes, there is quite a bit of lion in me. I'm certainly not a camel, that's for sure. I would like to think that I tasted the child phase ever so briefly when I was in Nice, on the French Riviera, or in Lauterbrunnen, in the Swiss Alps. Something about those places and my experiences there touched my spirit in a way that I have never experienced. I really felt as though I wasn't living life, but it was living me. I felt at one with everything in the universe, as though we all shared the same fabric, the same consciousness. I felt no anger or fear, no bitterness about the past or anxiety about the future. I just was.

But since returning from Europe, I could hear the lion's roar deep down inside of me, growing louder ever so slowly. The first week or so I think I was able to be a child much more easily than I expected. I felt that I was taking all that peace and enlightenment with me, and spreading it around this ugly suburban wasteland like wildflower seeds. But one by one, old pieces of my life came crashing back into my daily space. Traffic. Work. Strained relationships. Religious judgements. Deep-seated family issues. Fears about life-long lonliness. Health problems. With each one, I could feel a little, clawed paw reach out and swing from inside. The lion was rising once again. I was slipping.

I tried desperately to cling to that open-faced child that I knew was still around somewhere, but she was being mauled by a hungry lion. I'm back, and I'm angry, and I'm swinging wildly around at whomever I can.

But here's the interesting thing about lions and their anger - it's almost always motivated by fear. A lion doesn't get angry just for fun or because it's a stupid animal just looking for a fight. It gets angry when it senses that its pride may be in danger (as in the lions it protects, not its ego). For example, if there is an enemy or perceived threat on its land or near other lions it cares about, it will shout out a deafening roar to let everyone know who's in charge. And the worst is a mama lion when she sense her babies may be in danger. You could argue that lions are unnecessarily violent when killing prey, but I would disagree. They are simply looking for food, and often to share. They are not a species that tortures their prey first. They strategize, act, and bring the carcass home to the kids. In fact, I might argue that more timid animals do their prey more harm - like chickens who might just slowly peck something to death or spiders who let their dinner die slowly in the middle of their manipulative web.

Ok, where is all this nature-show stuff going? I guess I'm trying to say that although I may have slipped back into the lion phase, I've learned something new about my anger. It's motivated by fear. I seem to lash out more when I feel unsafe. It's a lot easier than vulnerability.

What's that? You don't like this blog post? Grrrr. . . . .

noisy silence

Tonight I went back to a yoga class for the first time since before Europe - since the beginning of June! It was an introductory night for a level one class (2 levels below what I usually take), so it was very simple. But simple was good for me tonight. There was no flying upside down or flipping up against walls or bending back into twister-like poses. It was more like learning how best to stand, sit and breathe. Excellent reminders.

Regardless of the lack of physical challenge involved, I was challenged to stillness. My mind was quieter than it's been for a long time. This only means one thing - I created more space for noise! It seemed like as soon as I opened my mind up again to the steady breathing and flowing movements, I had all of this empty space. What I should have done with it was allow it to be empty, but instead it filled immediately with worry and self-doubt and fear. In the quiet of that yoga studio, and all the way home afterward, it was as if little demons were just shouting at me. I could hear their sneering comments just bouncing off the open walls of my mind. It made me want to drown them out with the vices I had just left at the door.

I guess you have to kill the aphids before the rose bush can grow. And they're not going to go easily. I keep thinking of that line in a poem (I think it's Dylan Thomas) that says "Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

sticky tac facial hair

I think I am quite a bit more permissive than other teachers at my school - and my school is pretty loose. Perhaps it's because I teach 5th and 6th grade, which is at the upper end of our K-8 school, and I work with mostly teachers of younger kids, who, I'm told, need more boundaries. (What kind of run-on sentence is that for a middle school teacher, then, huh?) I mean, I keep "order" in the room, if by order you mean lots of kids moving around, talking, laughing, and having fun. There are certainly times for quiet, and I can get the crazy monkeys to settle down for those. But overall, unless they're hurting someone, I usually let them do what they feel inspired to do. In the past, that has meant playing dodgeball rather rambunctiously, lying all over the floor with pillows and blankets for read-aloud, or running around out back at the end of the day (even though we're technically not supposed to let them do it because of the ticks in the woods just beyond. I tell them to run fast and the ticks won't be able to catch them.) Today it came in the form of allowing them to use an entire package of gray sticky tac to make creative facial hair designs on themselves. I taught most of the afternoon to a group of 10 and 11 year olds with gummy handlebar moustaches and mutton chops - including several girls. Walking down the hall at the end of the day garnered some rather interesting glances from the other teachers, but I didn't care. I think it's a much better use for the stuff than hanging silly posters that will fall down in a few days anyway.

falling in love with yourself. . . via several boyfriends and a husband thrown in for fun

Since leaving my marriage, I have had a lot of time to think about relationships - particularly my relationships. In observing pre-marriage boyfriends and boyfriends\flings\dates\crushes\things since my hubby, I'm starting to see a cycle.

Boys always initially seem drawn to the same things about me - my "big, brown eyes," (although various alternative adjectives have been used), my sassy sense of humor, and my live-life-to-the-fullest mentality. Then, as we start to hang out, they discover these other "cutsey" little things like my penchant for making mood-based mix cds full of awful 80's music, my quirky vintage clothes, my sense of adventure when on dates ("sure! let's do it! let's go now!"), or my mad crazy driving and parallel parking skills. However, the things in the second list are inevitably the ones that will end up driving them bonkers down the line. My fun, nostalgic music eventually becomes "bad taste" (I never said I liked Bell Biv DeVoe because he's talented). My clothes become "Why are you wearing that weird hippie thing again? It looks ridiculous." My sense of adventure turns into an annoying need for constant entertainment. (My husband once told me that I wouldn't be satisfied with a date unless he took me to the bottom of the ocean. I said, "Oooh! Could we?") And finally, my driving causes mild panic attacks, and the boys always end up fighting with me about whether I can fit into that narrow parking space.

I guess you could boil it down to the "natural" stages of a relationship, whatever that means. I guess you're supposed to think everything about the other person is endearing at first, and want to do everything with them, right? You're supposed to be full of energy to climb to the top of things and swim to the bottom of things together. But then everyone tells you it fades. But I swear to god, I feel like it only fades with the other person! I'm still going strong! All the boys fool me into thinking they're adventurous, spontaneous, and in love with life too. . . at first. But then time drags on and they don't want to spend every moment together anymore. They have other things to do. And that amazing trip you said you'd take together? Well, all of a sudden he doesn't have time or money or energy or what-the-hell-ever.

So I start to get worried and get my girl-wheels spinning in my head. Doesn't he love me anymore? Maybe I did something. I should call him. No, that will just make him feel suffocated. But he should know that I feel this way. I'll call him. No, I'll just email him. No, I'll text him. . . then call him if he doesn't call back. I'm sure he's not doing anything more important than waiting for my call. Oh my god why hasn't he called me back. I haven't seen him in 2 days it's like we broke up. Liar! I hate him! (Note: boys LOVE when you do this)

Inevitably, my paranoias often push them away, and they forget all the things about me that were once cute. Or I break it off because I'm not getting the attention I used to from them. So, whatever. There's plenty more boys where they came from, right?

But the thing that really struck me as I pondered all of this was how I seemed to fall in and out of love with myself as I went through the cycle each time. I'd be left sad and lonely after a break-up, thinking I'm a little too chubby and a little too talkative and not compromising enough and . . . on and on. But then I'd meet someone who didn't know all those little flaws about me yet - someone who was into me with fresh eyes. And as we would get to know each other, I would think, yeah, I DO have beautiful eyes, and I AM a lot of fun, and my mix cds are genius! As the relationships would progress and the boys would cool down, I would get increasingly bored with myself. By the end, I would be back to realizing what a paranoid, needy freak I am and I would want to dump myself before he could dump me.

So it kind of makes you wonder - did he cool off, or did I just stop loving myself? After all, we are much more drawn to people when they are confident, right? It's a chicken-or-the-egg situation. It seems that the only thing to break the cycle would be to learn to be totally head-over-heels in love with yourself when there's not a boy around for miles who's lookin' your way. Yeah - I'll just get right on that.